Miracle, A Christmas Story
by Rose Malmaison
Summary: Tony has lost faith in a lot of things that once seemed important to him, but he still believes in Gibbs. This is good because Tony is going through his annual Christmastime meltdown and needs all the help he can get. Set during Christmas 2011. This is slash, Gibbs/Tony, established relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Miracle, a Christmas Story**  
by **rose_malmaison**  
**Rating: **R or FRAO  
**Warnings:** Slash, language, m/m sex, dark theme, talk of suicide.  
**Themes:** Tibbs Holiday story, Christmas 2011. Gibbs/DiNozzo, established relationship, angst.  
**Written for:** Tibbs-Yuletide  
**Spoilers:** Mentions of episodes up to 9x10, Sins of the Father.  
**Disclaimer: **Only playing with the characters.  
**Summary:**  
Set during Christmas 2011. Tony has lost faith in a lot of things that once seemed important to him, but he still believes in Gibbs. This is good because Tony is going through his annual Christmastime meltdown and needs all the help he can get.  
**Length:** 6500 words in 3 parts  
**Thanks to: ** **your_icequeen**, **mamamia1964** for betaing and guidance, though I've added a lot since it was betaed. Comments are always appreciated!

Part 1

_"Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?" _

_~ Clarence Oddbody, It's a Wonderful Life (1946)_

Tony doesn't believe anything he reads in the newspaper any more. He doesn't believe in a higher power, or in the inherent goodness of man, either. There are a lot of things he no longer believes in.

Tony doesn't believe in his own father – not that he's ever totally trusted the man – although in recent months Senior has come a long way towards redeeming himself. Sadly, Tony no longer believes that one day he'll get the chance to meet Sean Connery and they they'll trade lines from James Bond movies over a couple of chilled martinis, shaken and not stirred.

But worst of all, Tony no longer believes in '_It's a Wonderful Life,'_ and it's his loss of faith in his favorite movie's life-affirming message that bothers him more than anything else. Now when Tony watches '_It's a Wonderful Life'_ he pictures Brenda Bittner, saturated in muted grays, driving George Bailey's car through the driving snow. She crashes his old car headlong into a tree, then gets out and staggers to the bridge with thoughts of suicide dancing in her head.

Tony has seen it before, that self-destructive behavior that cycles around until it comes back and not only hits _you_, but takes out everyone standing within the fifty-foot kill zone. He's seen it – hell, he's fucking well _experienced_ it – and he knows that kind of hurt stays with you for years, for a lifetime, no matter how much you deny it has any effect on you.

She can solve her problems by jumping off that bridge for all he cares because he's _not_ _responsible_ for her, and damn her for being selfish and dragging everyone down with her.

-...-

When he was eight, Tony was almost killed during that summer the family spent at the Jersey shore. It was a hot, sunny, carefree couple of weeks, full of sand and sea, and cocktails on the beach served promptly at five. Tony watched from the sidelines, dragging his feet so the cool sand slipped through his sunburned toes.

To this day, Tony vividly remembers getting knocked over by a huge wave and caught by the undertow. Choking on a mouthful of brine, he was sucked into the ocean by an incredibly strong wave, rolled over and over, helpless as he was tumbled like a rag in a cosmic spin cycle. His body twirled and pirouetted in an out-of-control dance, was dragged and scraped across the sandy ocean floor. Next thing he knew, he was hauled up and up, so close to the surface that he could see the crystal-blue sky through the shimmering water, and he reached out with his fingertips, desperately trying to break through, only to have all hope snatched away as he rollercoastered to the bottom once again.

Tony knew it was going to be the death of him, but he had to take a breath or else he'd die; he inhaled and took in a gulp of seawater. His lungs ached and the sparkling blue ocean turned an ominous inky black and Tony knew for sure that he was drowning, but a minute later he was gasping and choking and the wave was receding, having tossed him up on the beach like so much flotsam. Or is it jetsam?

When he struggled to his feet, wobbling on weak legs and coughing and crying like a little kid, out of sheer relief, his parents were there but they were so busy quarreling over what color the tablecloths should be at the party they were hosting that weekend, they never even noticed their kid had almost drowned, not twenty feet from where they stood. Tony was hurt and angry that nobody had witnessed him practically drowning, but he wasn't particularly surprised either.

Tony walked unnoticed past his parents, over the searing hot sand and into cool of the rented cottage, and put on his favorite T-shirt with 'Magnum PI' emblazoned across the chest. It covered the worst of the abrasions that scored his stomach. He watched TV until it was cocktail hour and when his mom came in and ran her fingers lazily though his hair and asked if he was okay, Tony smiled brightly and said, "I'm fine."

-...-

Sometimes it's so damned hard to get back up but he keeps doing it anyway.

-...-

Tony doesn't believe in the current SecNav, who delivers another hand up the backside when he invites Tony into his office and orders him to desist with his on-the-side investigation. Tony has spent his free time, which doesn't amount to much these days, trying to track down EJ. Nobody but him seems terribly concerned about her, even though she is not only missing, but is missing with a piece of lead in her side. It didn't take a lot of brainwork to figure out that Davenport, the former SecNav – whose obsessive fondness for Cuban cigars and Russian playwrights seems wildly unpatriotic – is taking care of his niece in his customary covert manner, and that the current SecNav has neatly brushed the whole thing under the table and expects it to stay there. Lock the box and throw away the damned key.

For all the things Tony doesn't believe in, there are still a few that he _does_ believe in, like doing the right thing, although he's clinging to that life raft with torn and bloodied fingernails. He has a bad feeling that one day soon the cold dark sea that's incessantly dragging at his waterlogged clothing is going to win what has been a very long and exhausting battle.

Tony knows that no matter how neatly you tie up loose ends, the rope tends to unravel at extremely inconvenient times, but he lets his anger and frustration at the SecNav go. No matter how much Tony despises the machinations of those at the top, he isn't quite ready to jump off the sinking ship.

And even if Tony doesn't believe in himself with quite as much confidence as he did just a few years ago, he believes that he still has integrity and that he can make a difference to a very few people in the course of his job. He also believes in Gibbs, who taught him that those things are important.

_He believes in Gibbs._

Whether or not it's a good thing, Tony relies upon Gibbs being there, being the rule by which he measures. He is Tony's lifeline whether Tony wants it or not, but sometimes Tony does not want anyone to be there for him, especially Gibbs, no matter how perverse and ungrateful and plain obstinate that might be. Tony figures that if he's going to fall on his face then it should be up to him to damn well get back on his own two feet again. Or not.

Gibbs is always there though. He's a rock, supportive in his impatient, tight-lipped kind of way, and to give him credit, Gibbs doesn't often extend his hand. He'll help but he won't actually _do_ it for you. The thing is that Tony knows that no matter how badly he fucks up, all it takes is for Gibbs to look at him expectantly and he gets his act together and gets back on the damned horse – or in the boat because they are, after all, Navy cops.

Gibbs is the only one that matters, the only voice that can get through to him when push comes to shove, when despair casts its pall, when the image of Brenda smashing her car into a tree jumps to the forefront of his mind and won't stop replaying in a never-ending loop.

A movie comes to mind, one from the 90s, when Christmas Day is repeated multiple times, giving the character – a 13-year-old selfish boy – a chance to right what's wrong and get his head out of his ass long enough to recognize a key truth. Tony doesn't need to relive Christmas because he already knows what went wrong. He understands the truth. He just can't accept it.

Tony believes, truly _knows _with unerring conviction, that Gibbs is the only person in the world who will always be there for him, and that's where the true miracle lies, not in old movies or in Christmas sentiment, or buried somewhere amongst the regrets of his past.

It isn't exactly regret that Tony feels. It's more along the lines of nostalgia tugging at him when he thinks that his life could have been, _should have been_, somehow different. Back in Baltimore he should have tried harder to get past the shit that went down with Danny, and persevered, stuck with his job. He should have turned right around and convinced Wendy they could make a go of it; he should have done whatever the hell it took to get her to put his ring back on her finger. He should have taken that raise in rank and pay, bought that little house they had their eye on, and had a mortgage and a couple of kids, and maybe a dog, and by now he would only have a handful of years left until he's done his twenty.

He'd mapped out a new path for himself on the day in college when he'd acknowledged that his broken leg meant the end of one set of dreams, and that it was time to work on another. Tony knows where he went wrong and veered off that new-and-revised path. In fact, he can pinpoint the exact day and time that he took that sharp left-handed turn, and sometimes, when he thinks about it too deeply, he's almost ashamed that he took the bait so damned easily. He can't even think of Baltimore without thinking of Gibbs, the Navy cop who made off with his perp, and stole both his neatly arranged future and his heart all in one fell swoop.

No, Tony shouldn't call the path he chose _wrong_, just not what he planned, or expected. But that's life, isn't it? Tony isn't sure that the choice to follow Gibbs was even his to make. Someone else, a higher power, took the reins that day. Oh, Tony was willing, all right, but it was Gibbs who had pushed him in the right direction and then put his stamp on Tony – the one in indelible ink that says 'Property of Leroy Jethro Gibbs.'

There have been times when Tony's belief in the man, in Gibbs, has been sorely tested, but after doing a lot of soul-searching and with Gibbs being unerringly patient, in his impatient way, they have persevered and have come out the other side tempered – not like steel but like glass. "Tempered glass is safer and stronger, tougher," Gibbs points out, looking at him with those blue eyes that bore right into his soul. It frightens Tony that Gibbs believes in him so absolutely, that Gibbs thinks he's that strong. Tony knows that if –_when_ – he falls apart, the tempered glass will break into a million little pieces, and because Tony believes in Gibbs, he knows that Gibbs will be there to sweep him up.

Tony wonders how it is that he has come to believe in another person so intrinsically that he's placed his very life in his hands.

***~*** end part 1***~***


	2. Chapter 2

**Rating: **R or FRAO  
**Warnings:** Slash, language, m/m sex, dark theme, talk of suicide.  
**Themes:** Tibbs Holiday story, Christmas 2011. Gibbs/DiNozzo, established relationship, angst.  
**Spoilers:**Mentions of episodes up to 9x10, Sins of the Father.

Part 2

_Tony DiNozzo: "Maybe instead of having a mid-life crisis, I'm having a mid-life crazy."_

It's Christmas Eve and their last case has been neatly wrapped up and tied securely with a nice red bow. All the paperwork is done; the holiday party upstairs is winding down, and Breena has already taken a tipsy Palmer home. Abby left with Ducky twenty minutes ago, both of them dressed to the nines, heading for the cathedral for a performance of the Messiah, and Tony wishes he were accompanying them. Gibbs headed out an hour ago, at five on the dot, and everyone assumed he was heading straight to Pennsylvania to visit his father because they all have the week off and nobody wants to waste a minute of such a gift, which is well-deserved.

Tony sends the final report up to Vance's office and shuts down his computer. Due to bad timing Tony ends up riding in the elevator with Ziva and McGee, who are so full of the holiday spirit that Tony is afraid they're going to break into song. Instead of saying something cutting to stop the horror before it begins, he puts on smile #2, which involves a hint of patronizing and a whole lot of teeth. Some things he learned well at his father's knee.

He feels like shit and knows his appearance pretty much matches how he feels, but his co-workers haven't actually said anything even if they've been shooting concerned looks his way for the past couple of days. That afternoon, for no apparent reason, Abby gave him an unusually long and heartfelt hug – not that she ever needs a _reason_ to give him a hug – but just as she was about to ask him difficult questions that he'd rather not answer, Gibbs had interrupted, making Tony wonder if he'd been waiting outside the lab in case an intervention was needed.

Being stuck in an elevator with Ziva and Tim, even if it's only for a couple of minutes, is something Tony tries to endure without freaking out. As the doors close on him he feels a bubble of panic arise, so he focuses on the floor numbers above the door and tries to slow down his rapid breathing. He wants to swipe his forearm across his sweaty forehead but knows that will only bring attention to himself. It's too late – Ziva is looking at him curiously. Tony swallows and prays he doesn't lose it because this is not the place to have a meltdown, and even though he knows his teammates care about him, more than any of them ever say aloud, he can't stand that they might see him at his worst, and sympathize. That's what he's petrified of, not just making a fool of himself, but of being the recipient of their overt sympathy, which comes so perilously close to _pity_ that Tony can't tell the two things apart. Either way, the look in Ziva's eyes is far too perceptive.

Tony has been like this for days, and up until now he has been able to put on a pretty good act, and has kept the fact that he's unraveling under wraps. It's only because he's tired that his cover is deteriorating at the edges, and because, the doc says, he's suffering from the after-effects of the concussion he had three months ago. _He's_ suffering – he laughs at that. Gibbs has borne the worst of it, suffered Tony's irritability, mood swings, anxiety – and lack of libido, which is downright embarrassing when Gibbs is doing his best in bed to rev Tony up and the shaft just won't crank. His headaches and depression are his own cross to bear, and he has been dealing with them just fine up until now, thank you very much. Except now it's Christmas once again, and things – _unspeakable things_ – that Tony has always been able to handle in years past, are piling up and he is being immersed under their unbearable weight.

The dreams have never been this bad before, and they're spiking his waking hours with sudden, flashing visions that come out of nowhere and intrude on his life. They're scraps of film from the cutting room floor, desperate for another chance at life, flickering for brief, blinding moments that seem so real. Their very existence is terrifying. Ducky says they stem from post-concussive somethingorother but Tony knows differently.

The worst thing of all is that he's been avoiding Gibbs because Gibbs can _see_ things that others can't and Tony doesn't want _anybody_ to see what is going on in his fucked-up mind. Especially not Gibbs. _Please, God, please, please, not Gibbs…_ If he knows, if he sees, he won't want to stick around, that's the bottom line, the bottom of the barrel, the bottom of the sea. If Gibbs had known back then what he was getting into he'd never have made the first move. Hell, Tony knows that if _he_ met himself today, he'd back away faster than you can say Merry Christmas.

In the confining space of the elevator, Ziva turns to him and asks, "Why are we not watching '_The Wonderful Life'_? Is it not a tradition?"

Tony doesn't bother to correct her. "Well, I don't know about you, but as it's a _DiNozzo_ tradition, _this_ DiNozzo is going home to watch it, with a big bowl of popcorn all to himself," he responds with a smile that Tony hopes projects that he's been looking forward to seeing the movie all day.

Tim sends him a look that forms a deep crease between his brows and, with a sinking feeling that has become all-too familiar, Tony waits. Three… two… one… marks the countdown sweep at the beginning of the black-and-white movie reel, and right on cue McGee says, "I thought you and Gibbs were…" It only takes one sharp look from Tony to quell whatever McBigMouth was about to say, but Ziva catches the awkward moment and launches into a multitude of questions.

Tony sees her lips moving but he can't hear a word she says. He smiles some more, sure that his expression appears brittle because he's clenching his teeth so hard his molars ache, but he feels too _off_ to care if she realizes how false the smile is. Mercifully the door slides open and Tony almost falls out of the elevator in his haste to escape. He heads straight for his car, calling insincere wishes of Happy Holidays over his shoulder.

-...-

Gibbs is leaning over the kitchen sink with his hand stuffed deep inside a turkey.

Tony can't help asking, "Doing a thorough cavity search? Did you read him his rights first?" Of course Gibbs sends Tony a glare and indulges in a little bit of eye-rolling because they both know that Tony would _never_ stick his hand in any dark, moist hole without first doubling up on latex gloves. Tony goes straight to the fridge, pulls out a beer and drinks half the bottle before he sighs deeply and settles on a kitchen chair to watch Gibbs making preparations for their Christmas dinner.

Eventually Gibbs finishes up, puts everything away in the fridge, washes down the sink and the counters, scours his forearms up to his elbows that would do a surgeon proud, and then gets himself a beer. Even though Tony has drained the last of his beer, Gibbs doesn't offer him a second one because they both know that one is the limit, with the meds Tony is currently taking. Tony thinks he might sneak a second one later on. It isn't as if he's going to be working tomorrow or doing anything like driving heavy machinery. "What time will Jack be here?" Tony asks.

"Around two. He's taking a courtesy car from the airport." Gibbs takes a sip then says, "I bought that stuff you wanted for the stuffing."

"I'll make it in the morning. We're still planning on eating at five? You get enough cranberries so I can string some for the tree?"

Gibbs nods. "It'll be ready at five." He plans a meal down to the last detail as if it's the invasion of Normandy and Tony knows that it will taste great and that there will be enough leftovers to last them a week. It's the same every year, a Gibbs-DiNozzo tradition, the two of them, and sometimes Jackson Gibbs if he isn't visiting his only remaining sister who lives up in Elkland. Every Christmas, Tony makes the dessert and follows Grandmother Paddington's recipe for a cranberry-walnut stuffing with extra spicy sausage; Gibbs handles the bird and the veggies which tends to mean a lot of bird and a little veggies. After five years of Christmas dinners together they have it down pat.

This is their sixth Christmas as a couple, Tony thinks with a sigh. They had danced around each other for much of the four years before that, and it was only after Tony was cleared of murder that their heightened emotions compelled the two men to declare their feelings for each other. Actually, Tony had broken down and said he didn't want to waste any more time, still shaking with relief that he wasn't going to spend the rest of his life in prison, and Gibbs had jumped his bones. To be fair, Gibbs had been extraordinarily gentle even when Tony had wanted it otherwise. A weekend of being together, truly _together_, had sealed the deal and they'd never looked back.

"Tired?" Gibbs asks, careful not to appear like he's assessing Tony, although it's obvious that he is. Tony knows that Gibbs knows that Tony knows.

These days, Gibbs rarely asks Tony straight out if he's okay. This is because Gibbs is well aware that the reply will be, "I'm fine," and that those words carry no weight owing to the fact that Tony's 'fine' is usually an outright lie.

There is no fine any more.

So now Gibbs tends to ask specific questions. "Can I get you something for your headache?" "Would you like me to give you a back rub?" "Where did you leave your inhaler?" His attentiveness makes Tony feel both loved and annoyed at the same time. Tony knows his limits – how much he can drink, when to take his meds, when he needs to call Dr. Rachel for an emergency session – and he does not _want_ or _need_ a watchdog.

Gibbs has smartened up and won't even bring Tony an aspirin without asking first, not since Tony blew a gasket over being mothered – this was just before Christmas, six years ago – and accused Gibbs of "sticking your fucking nose in where it is none of your business and treating me like I'm being self-destructive or some _shit_. I do not need that _shit_." Needless to say that fight did not end well and the ensuing coldness grew wider by the day until it stretched between them like the fucking Grand Canyon.

If Gibbs hadn't come over to Tony's apartment late one night a _whole_ _week _later to say, "I'm sorry and I want you to come home," just when Tony was heading out of his own apartment with the intention of going over to Gibbs' place to say, "I'm sorry and I want to come home," well, that would have been the end of their affair and the end of them ever working together again.

For Tony, that would have been the end.

But they talked, learned, adjusted, and both men swore they'd never go through that hell again. They moved in together a month later, and that was six years ago.

Sure he's tired, but it's more about mental exhaustion. "I'll be okay if I get a good night's sleep," he assures Gibbs, not meaning to lie because they have this kind of pact that says they're not allowed to lie. Not that Gibbs lies outright; he's more of the 'if I don't open my mouth then I can't lie' school of reasoning. This brings Tony back to rule number 18, the one about seeking forgiveness later, which Tony thinks of as Gibbs' version of a wild card. Tony uses that particular rule too much and they both know it.

Maybe he should make that his New Year's resolution. Rule 18B, revised January 1, 2012: It's better to seek permission than ask for forgiveness later because the other way around is just an excuse to lie.

Tony thinks (_hopes_) he has the stamina to make it through this holiday in one piece, and he will, if he keeps busy and doesn't think too much about the past. He's done it before, for the last thirty years, so it should be old hat by now. Tony takes a deep breath and asks Gibbs, "Are we still planning to take Jack back to Stillwater a couple of days after Christmas? On Tuesday?"

They'll only stay in Stillwater for a couple of nights, sleeping in the upstairs bedroom that is about as far from Jack's downstairs suite as is possible. Tony always enjoyed his time there, in Gibbs' childhood home. When they went up to Stillwater last summer, Gibbs installed a heavy wall-to-wall carpet in the upstairs guest bedroom. Although Gibbs swore it was simply intended to make the room cozy, Tony poked him in the ribs and whispered in his ear, "You think it'll help muffle the noise so your dad doesn't hear your screams?"

Even Jackson hadn't been fooled, but then it had been he who had exchanged the twin beds for a queen between visits and hadn't even blinked at Tony's glee. Gibbs had blushed when he'd set his eyes on the big bed, and Tony had been so turned on they'd christened the mattress almost before Jackson had shut the door behind him, saying he was going to visit an old buddy for the rest of the afternoon.

Now, seated at the kitchen table, Gibbs replies, "We'll drive up Tuesday if the weather holds," and drinks some of his beer, and Tony can't help but be fascinated with the way Gibbs' lips wrap around the mouth of the dark brown bottle. Tony looks up to see that he's being watched and it's obvious that Gibbs has a good idea of what Tony's thinking. Gibbs places his beer bottle firmly on the table and ducks his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. He looks like a shy teenager and that goes straight to Tony's dick. Gibbs looks up to meet Tony's eyes and Tony smiles in response and relaxes for the first time in days.

They're going to travel by car, and Tony is looking forward to that. Gibbs will drive and Tony will sit in the back with Jackson and coerce stories out of him about Young Leroy while Gibbs pretends he's not listening even if an occasional derisive sound escapes from his throat.

Sometimes it seems that Tony just can't get enough of Gibbs and he doesn't care who knows it. Jackson will catch Tony's eye and they'll grin at the predictability of it all and Tony will get that warm feeling in his chest because this is his family and they're not afraid to love him.

***~***end part 2***~***


	3. Chapter 3

**Rating: **R or FRAO  
**Warnings:** Slash, language, m/m sex, dark theme, talk of suicide.  
**Themes:** Tibbs Holiday story, Christmas 2011. Gibbs/DiNozzo, established relationship, angst.  
**Spoilers:**Mentions of episodes up to 9x10, Sins of the Father.

Part 3

_Dr. Rachel Cranston: "So, you're ok?"  
Tony DiNozzo: "I'm not dead."_

To Tony, their bedroom is both a refuge and dangerous place. It's not just the dreams – nightmares – he sometimes has. He can deal with those on his own, usually, although they tend to get more frequent as the holidays approach. For some reason, this year they're really bad but Tony shrugs it off because they'll fade after the new year begins.

Bed means sex, of course, and although Tony enjoys sex, he really loves making love, when they're both on the same page and Gibbs takes him slowly to the brink and beyond and Tony can give all of himself to Gibbs and manage to lose himself in the process. There is a steep price to pay for the intimacy he shares with Gibbs – Tony is expected to open up and _that_, Tony finds, is a very difficult thing to do.

For a man who can speak volumes with just one look, and who can go for days without speaking a single word, Gibbs is surprisingly talkative in bed. He likes to talk dirty, to talk to Tony about what Tony means to him, and to even talk about what he's feeling. Who'd have thought? As soon as the bedroom door is shut it's as if someone flips a switch and a sensuous, caring, and very giving Gibbs appears. He's demanding, too, which is good on a physical level. Tony likes his sex a bit rough, and a take-no-prisoners, alpha-male Gibbs is what man-on-man sex is all about for Tony, all heavy muscles and hard embraces, so that's not the problem. The problem is that Gibbs also wants Tony to talk about what's going on in his mind.

The first time Gibbs ever asked Tony what he was thinking after a no-holds-barred bout of hot sex that left Tony gasping and unable to form any intelligible words, Tony was positive that Gibbs was putting him on. It took him a while to get that this wasn't the usual office-hours "What the hell's the matter with you, DiNozzo?" This was Gibbs wanting to really and truly _know_ Tony on a whole different level, and it took time, and a whole lot of trust, for Tony to even begin to open up.

Gibbs always seems to want more from him, and Tony understands that this isn't some casual investigation looking for clues as to how he ticks. This is Gibbs' way of making Tony say aloud what Gibbs already knows. "I want to hear you say it," Gibbs says bluntly. To say it aloud is the first step to accepting it. That's the theory, anyway, and Dr. Rachel, who has refined her own method of digging around in Tony's brain, and seems intent upon making him squirm like a fish on a short-shank hook until he spills, would approve of Gibbs' methods.

"Blackmail," Tony says accusingly when Gibbs wrestles him to their bed after things get too heated on the couch in the living room. They'd turned out the lights on the Christmas tree and locked the front door, and had hung onto each other as they navigated the stairs, one kiss at a time.

"You got a point, Tony?"

Tony is naked, his arms pinned at his sides by Gibbs' rough hands, which feels good, but Tony raises his head and bites Gibbs on the chin, grinning at the look of surprise on Gibbs' face. "Sex first, talk later," Tony negotiates.

Gibbs' grip intensifies and Tony knows he'll have bruises come morning. Gibbs knows it, too. "Tell me now," Gibbs demands. "Because once I take your dick in my mouth, you know you won't be able to speak."

Tony wishes that were the case so he licks his bottom lip and eyes Gibbs' mouth, wanting that mouth on him, on _any_ part of him, sucking and licking and working its usual magic. Gibbs dips his head for a kiss, tender and thorough, but when he's accomplished what he's set out to do, he pulls back and looks into Tony's eyes, waiting. He won't let it go. Tony has to look away, afraid that once he starts talking that he'll never stop, and he's sure that whatever spews from his lips is going to be ugly and will put Gibbs out of the mood forever. He shrugs with a sort of allover body wriggle and feels Gibbs' dick harden where it's pressed against his thigh.

"Tell me," Gibbs says in Tony's ear, his hot breath making Tony shiver right down to his knees.

"Please…" Tony whispers, swallowing hard. "You don't want to know…"

Tony makes the mistake of turning his head Gibbs' way again and finds that Gibbs is looking in his eyes with too much understanding to be comfortable. "I already know, Tony," Gibbs says with compassion.

Anger and frustration rise and crest and Tony struggles with himself, and writhes within Gibbs' grip, for real this time, bucking his hips, his mouth tight and rebellious. Gibbs won't release him so Tony blurts, "If you already know so fucking much, then why are you asking? Why the fuck do you keep asking? You know…you know I don't want to…" Tony closes his eyes, willing himself to keep it together, to let the wave peak and plunge and dissipate, but his breathing is erratic and he's falling apart. "I don't want this," he whispers shakily, and closes his eyes.

There's a hand on his head, stroking his hair away from his forehead so gently it almost brings him to tears, and he realizes that Gibbs is no longer restraining him. For some reason that puts Tony over the edge. "Why aren't you holding me?" His voice sounds tight and he worries that Gibbs is giving up on him. "You never let me go," he protests. Gibbs never gives him a break so why now? "Hold me, Jethro," pleads Tony.

"Shhh. I've got you." Gibbs kisses him again, shifting his weight so their groins slide against each other, slick and hot, and Tony arches and wraps his arms around Gibbs' waist, drawing him as close as he can to his body. A warm hand slips under Tony's ass and the pressure of Gibbs' fingers working his muscles makes Tony moan.

With a catch in his voice, Tony says, "It's been three months, Jethro. Three damned months and I still can't remember everything, and I keep getting these flashes that have nothing to do with the shooting. You know old home movies when the film jumps out of the sprocket and flaps around? Like that. They come at me, hit me without any warning. They're like…like visions or something and I see people I know walking around in old films and now I can't even watch my favorite Christmas movie because George Bailey keeps turning into Brenda and she drives the car, this old Ford, into a tree and when she staggers away from the crash she heads for the bridge, and she's going to jump and I scream at her not to, but she won't listen to me and…"

Gibbs is running a calloused palm across Tony's cheek and Tony realizes his face is wet and when he tries to take a breath it sounds like a sob. He's choking and the water is over his head and he can't breathe. He tries to swim his way to the light but the undertow has him in its clutches and he flings his arms out beseechingly, reaching desperately for the surface that's too far above him. Next thing he knows he's on the floor with Gibbs' arms around him, calming him and talking him down from his panic. Tony buries his face in Gibbs' neck and inhales his scent and tries to take deep breaths. "So-sorry," he stutters, hating this, but Gibbs makes noises that say there's nothing to be sorry about.

They're back in bed and Tony is in Gibbs' arms, safe, hoping that his meltdown doesn't mean he won't be getting any sex that night. Tony realizes he must be feeling better if his mind is thinking about sex. Gibbs kisses him and Tony reciprocates, hungry for more, trying really hard not to clutch at Gibbs' shoulders.

Gibbs runs a hand up and down Tony's back in long sweeps, matching the strokes of his tongue inside Tony's mouth. After a while Gibbs prompts, "The woman on the bridge."

Tony shakes his head and tries not to think about her, but the heavy snow is swirling around her pale gray figure, obscuring her features, and she's moving away, heading for the bridge. He wants, he _needs_ to see her, to look her in the face, to tell her – _to beg her_ – not to jump. "I called to her, yelled at her not to do it," Tony says quietly. "I grabbed her hand and tried to drag her away from the edge."

"You couldn't stop her?"

He shakes his head against Gibbs' shoulder and closes his eyes even though that brings the pictures to life one again. "She won't listen and I'm not big enough to stop her. I'm just a kid and she's stronger than me." She looks at Tony with blank eyes, "as if she doesn't know me, as if I'm not her own son," and then she turns away without saying anything, not even goodbye. He loses his grip and she walks purposefully to the railing "and then she's gone, just…gone."

Every Christmas he goes through the same thing; he relives it, sees his mother making that last, terrible choice. Tony wonders why Gibbs hasn't given up on him yet, why he hasn't said, "Get over it, DiNozzo. Get your head on straight and don't come back 'til you do." But Gibbs – his Gibbs, the man who holds onto him when Tony experiences his distorted old memories yet again, who comforts him through his tears, and his anger and self-recrimination, the man who Tony trusts with this burden – never lets him go.

Gibbs plants kisses on Tony's forehead and then on his mouth, giving as much as he takes, all sweeps of his tongue and pressure in the right places. It takes a while for Tony to become aroused again, but Gibbs is indulgent and loving and he dives right in. Gibbs knows where to touch Tony to bring him to the surface and together they ride the crest and come up breathless and wanting more.

Tony encourages Gibbs with his hands and his mouth, with small moans and desperate whines, but Gibbs ignores Tony's entreaties and takes his sweet time. _Bastard_.

"I'm going to fuck you with my tongue and when you beg me for more I'm gonna use my fingers, and when you think you can't take it any more I'll fuck you with my dick 'til you pass out," Gibbs promises.

The heat builds until Tony is well past the point of being able to do much else but clutch at Gibbs and moan and twist and gasp, and when Tony thinks he can't stand another minute of it, Gibbs gives him what he wants and slides inside his welcoming body.

Gibbs calls out Tony's name when he comes and Tony shudders underneath him and finally lets go, and the final reel of the film plays exactly as Gibbs predicted and everything fades to black.

-...-

Gibbs saves Tony from drowning and makes Tony think that maybe he _can_ make it through another Christmas, and that, Tony knows, is one miracle he can truly believe in.

***~*** end ***~***


End file.
